preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第66节

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s。　No　problem：　he　would　find　another　way　out　of　the　house。　Downstairs；　through　the　reception　hall　and　out　a　first　floor　window　or　door。　Perhaps　out　the　porte…cochère　door；　which　had　every　appearance　of　being　functional…in　fact　it　was　probably　the　very　door　used　by　the　custodian。　Relief　coursed　through　him　at　this　thought。　It　would　be　easier；　it　would　save　him　the　trouble　of　having　to　climb　back　down　that　outside　wall。
　All　he　had　to　do　was　find　his　way　to　it　through　the　dark　house。
　He　stood　in　the　hall；　waiting　for　his　heartbeat　to　slow。　The　place　was　so　quiet；　so　unusually　quiet；　that　he　found　his　ears　alert　for　the　faintest　sound。　The　silence；　he　told　himself；　was　a　good　sign。　No　custodian　was　around。　He　probably　came　only　once　a　week；　at　most；　or　maybe　only　once　a　year；　given　all　the　dust　in　the　place。　Smithback　had　all　the　time　in　the　world。
　Feeling　a　little　sheepish；　he　made　his　way　back　to　the　head　of　the　stairs　and　peered　down。　The　carriage　door；　it　seemed　to　him；　should　be　to　the　left；　somewhere　off　the　reception　hall。　He　descended　the　stairs　and　paused　warily　at　the　bottom；　peering　again　at　the　strange；　endless　displays。　Still；　no　sound。　The　place　was　clearly　deserted。
　He　remembered　Pendergast's　theory。　What　if　Leng　really　had　succeeded　。　。　。　？
　Smithback　forced　himself　to　laugh　out　loud。　What　the　hell　was　he　thinking　about？　Nobody　could　live　150　years。　The　darkness；　the　silence；　the　mysterious　collections　were　getting　to　him。
　He　paused；　taking　stock。　A　passage　ran　off　from　the　hall　to　the　left；　in　what　he　thought　was　the　right　direction。　It　lay　in　plete　darkness；　yet　it　seemed　the　most　promising。　He　should　have　thought　to　bring　a　damn　flashlight。　No　matter：　he　would　try　that　first。
　Stepping　carefully；　avoiding　the　display　cases　and　sheeted　objects；　he　walked　across　the　hall　and　into　the　side　passage。　His　pupils　refused　to　dilate　further　and　the　corridor　remained　pitch　black；　the　darkness　an　almost　palpable　presence　around　him。　He　fumbled　in　his　pocket；　found　the　box　of　matches　he'd　picked　up　at　the　Blarney　Stone。　He　lit　one；　the　scraping　and　flaring　of　the　match　unpleasantly　loud　in　the　still　air。
　The　flickering　light　revealed　a　passage　leading　into　another　large　room；　also　crammed　with　wooden　cabinets。　He　took　a　few　steps　forward　until　the　matchlight　died　away。　Then　he　went　on　as　far　as　he　dared　into　the　blackness；　felt　around　with　his　hand；　found　the　doorframe　of　the　room；　drew　himself　forward　again。　Once　he　was　inside；　he　lit　another　match。
　Here　was　a　different　kind　of　collection：　rows　and　rows　of　specimens　in　jars　of　formaldehyde。　He　caught　a　quick　glimpse　of　rows　of　gigantic；　staring　eyeballs　in　jars…whale　eyeballs？　Trying　not　to　waste　the　light；　he　hurried　forward；　stumbling　over　a　large　glass　jeroboam　on　a　marble　pedestal；　filled　with　what　looked　like　a　huge　floating　bag。　As　he　got　back　on　his　feet　and　lit　another　match；　he　caught　a　glimpse　of　the　label：　Mammoth　stomach；　containing　its　last　meal；　from　the　icefields　of　Siberia　。　。　。
　He　went　quickly　on；　passing　as　fast　as　he　could　between　the　rows　of　cabinets；　until　he　arrived　at　a　single　wooden　door；　battered　and　scarred。　There　was　a　sudden　sharp　pain　as　the　match　burned　his　fingers。　Cursing；　he　dropped　it；　then　lit　another。　In　the　renewed　flare　of　light；　he　opened　the　door。　It　led　into　a　huge　kitchen；　tiled　in　white　and　black。　There　was　a　deep　stone　fireplace　set　into　one　wall。　The　rest　of　the　room　was　dominated　by　a　huge　iron　stove；　a　row　of　ovens；　and　several　long　tables　set　with　soapstone　sinks。　Dozens　of　pots　of　greenish　copper　were　suspended　from　ceiling　hooks。　Everything　looked　decayed；　covered　with　a　thick　layer　of　dust；　cobwebs；　and　mouse　droppings。　It　was　a　dead　end。
　The　house　was　huge。　The　matches　wouldn't　last　forever。　What　would　he　do　when　they　ran　out？
　Get　a　grip；　Smithback；　he　told　himself。　Clearly；　no　one　had　cooked　in　this　kitchen　in　a　hundred　years。　Nobody　lived　in　the　house。　What　was　he　worrying　about？
　Relying　on　memory；　without　lighting　any　more　matches；　he　backtracked　into　the　large　room；　feeling　his　way　along　the　glass…fronted　cases。　At　one　point　he　felt　his　shoulder　brush　against　something。　A　second　later；　there　was　a　tremendous　crash　at　his　feet；　and　the　sudden　biting　stench　of　formaldehyde。　He　waited；　nerves　taut；　for　the　echoes　to　abate。　He　prepared　to　light　a　match；　thought　better　of　it…was　formaldehyde　flammable？　Better　not　experiment　now。　He　took　a　step；　and　his　stockinged　foot　grazed　something　large；　wet；　and　yielding。　The　specimen　in　the　jar。　He　gingerly　stepped　around　it。
　There　had　been　other　doors　set　into　the　passageway　beyond。　He　would　try　them　one　at　a　time。　But　first；　he　paused　to　remove　his　socks；　which　were　sodden　with　formaldehyde。　Then；　stepping　into　the　passageway；　he　ventured　another　match。　He　could　see　four　doors；　two　on　the　left　wall；　two　on　the　right。
　He　opened　the　closest；　found　an　ancient；　zinc…lined　bathroom。　Sitting　in　the　middle　of　the　tiled　floor　was　the　grinning　skull　of　an　allosaurus。　The　second　door　fronted　a　large　closet　full　of　stuffed　birds；　the　third；　yet　another　closet；　this　one　full　of　stuffed　lizards。　The　fourth　opened　into　a　scullery；　its　walls　pocked　and　scarred；　ravaged　by　traceries　of　mildew。
　The　match　went　out　and　Smithback　stood　in　the　enfolding　darkness。　He　could　hear　the　sound　of　his　own　stertorous　breathing。　He　felt　in　the　matchbook；　counted　with　his　fingers：　six　left。　He　fought　back…less　successfully　this　time…the　scrabbling　panic　that　threatened　to　overwhelm　him。　He'd　been　in　tough　situations　before；　tougher　than　this。　It's　an　empty　house。　Just　find　your　way　out。
　He　made　his　way　back　to　the　reception　hall　and　its　shrouded　collections。　Being　able　to　see　again；　no　matter　how　faintly；　calmed　him　a　little…there　was　something　utterly　terrifying　about　absolute　darkness。　He　looked　around　again　at　the　astounding　collections；　but　all　he　could　feel　now　was　a　rising　dread。　The　foul　smell　was　stronger　here：　the　sickly…sweet　odor　of　decay；　of　something　that　by　all　rights　belonged　under　several　feet　of　earth　。　。　。
　Smithback　took　a　series　of　deep；　calming　breaths。　The　thick　layers　of　undisturbed　dust　on　the　floor　proved　the　place　was　deserted；　that　even　the　caretaker；　if　there　was　one；　hardly　ever　came。
　He　glanced　around　again；　eyes　wide　against　the　faint　light。　On　the　far　side　of　the　hall；　a　shadowy　archway　led　into　what　looked　like　a　large　room。　He　walked　across　the　hall；　bare　feet　padding　on　the　parquet　floor；　and　passed　beneath　the　archway。　The　walls　of　the　room　beyond　were　paneled　in　dark　wood；　rising　to　a　coffered　ceiling。　This　room；　too；　was　filled　with　displays：　some　shrouded；　others　raised　on　plinths　or　armatures。　But　the　displays　themselves　were　utterly　different　from　what　he　had　seen　before。　He　stepped　forward；　looking　around；　bafflement　mixing　with　the　sharp　sense　of　trepidation。　There　were　large　steamer　trunks；　some　with　glass　sides；　bound　in　heavy　leather　straps；　galvanized　containers　like　antique　milk　cans；　their　lids　studded　with　heavy　bolts；　an　oddly　shaped；　oversized　wooden　box；　with　copper…lined　circles　cut　out　of　its　top　and　sides；　a　coffin…shaped　crate；　pierced　by　half　a　dozen　swords。　On　the　walls　hung　ropes；　strings　of　moldering　kerchiefs　tied　end…to…end；　straitjackets；　manacles；　chains；　cuffs　of　various　sizes。　It　was　an　inexplicable；　eerie　display；　made　the　more　unsettling　by　its　lack　of　relation　to　what　he　had　seen　before。
　Smithback　crept　on　into　the　center　of　the　room；　keeping　away　from　the　dark　corners。　The　front　of　the　house；　he　figured；　would　be　straight　ahead。　The　other　side　of　the　house　had　proven　a　dead　end；　surely　he　would　have　better　luck　this　way。　If　need　be；　he　would　batter　down　the　front　door。
　At　the　far　end　of　the　room；　another　passageway　led　off　into　darkness。　He　stepped　gingerly　into　it；　feeling　his　way　along　one　wall；　sliding　his　feet　forward　with　small；　tentative　steps。　In　the　faintest　of　light　he　could　see　the　hall　ended　in　another　room；　much　smaller　and　more　intimate　than　the　ones　he　had　passed　through　before。　The　specimens　were　fewer　here…just　a　few　cabinets　filled　with　seashells　and　some　mounted　dolphin　skeletons。　It　seemed　to　have　once　been　a　drawing　room　or　parlor　of　some　kind。　Or　perhaps…and　at　the　thought；　fresh　hope　surged　within　him…an　entryway？
　The　only　illumination　came　from　a　single　pinprick　of　light　in　the　far　wall；　which　sent　a　pencil…thin　beam　of　light　through　the　dusty　air。　A　tiny　hole　in　one　of　the　boarded　windows。　With　a　huge　sense　of　relief　he　quickly　crossed　the　room　and　began　feeling　along　the　wall　with　his　fingers。　There　was　a　heavy　oak　door　here。　The　hope　that　was　rising　within　him　grew　stronger。　His　fingers　fell　on　a　marble　doorknob；　oversized　and　terribly　cold　in　his　hands。　He　grasped　it　eagerly；　turned。
　The　knob　refused　to　budge。
　With　desperate　strength；　he　tried　again。　No　luck。
　He　stepped　back　and；　with　a　groan　of　despair；　felt　along　the　edge　of　the　door　with　his　hands；　searching　for　a　deadbolt；　lock；　anything。　An　overwhelming　sense　of　fear　returned。
　Heedless　of　the　noise　now；　he　threw　himself　against　the　door；　once；　twice；　rushing　at　it　with　all　his　weight；　trying　desperately　to　break　it　down。　The　hollow　thumps　echoed　through　the　room　and　down　the　hall。　When　the　door　stil